


Wrong Number

by DarylDixonGrimes



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombies, Chance Meeting, Lube, Lust, M/M, Rickyl, Sex, bottom!daryl, hookup, safe sex, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 07:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12978642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarylDixonGrimes/pseuds/DarylDixonGrimes
Summary: Rick inherits Merle Dixon's old phone number and gets a voicemail from his brother asking for help. He decides to do his good deed for the day, and boy does it pay off.





	Wrong Number

Rick’s on his couch in his boxers when he gets the call. The numbers on his phone screen aren’t remotely familiar, so he rejects it and settles back against his throw pillows, putting his feet up on the arm of the couch at the opposite end.

He’d said he wasn’t gonna do anything that day, and he has every intention of sticking to those plans.

When the voicemail icon pops up, he pauses his movie and dials in, though he has a feeling already it’s a wrong number. He’d just gotten the phone and the new number to go along with it about a month ago. And people still call all the time looking for someone else.

“Hey Merle, it’s me.”

Rick doesn’t know who Merle Dixon is outside of his name, but he knows he was behind on a million different credit card bills and probably some other “accounts” that are less than legal. Rick has never wondered once why he changed his number.

“You know I wouldn’t call you if I had another damn choice, but I need your help. Some asshole lost a heap of barbwire out here and I’m down two tires. I’m on Highway 180 right past that old red barn. Ain’t got nobody else who can come right now, so don’t be a dick.”

Rick hits the red end call button and contemplates ignoring the message. If the guy is anything like Merle, then he might be bad news. But he sounds desperate, and it’s not exactly like Rick can pass a message along to Merle or someone else he actually knows. And it’s clear if he couldn’t get Merle to come through for him, then he’d pretty much be hoofing it or trying to hitch a ride. It’s not like the old barn is that far from where he lives anyway. Twenty minutes tops to do his good deed for the day.

Sighing, Rick sits up and turns off the TV. So much for not doing anything.

* * *

Daryl paces next to the old powder blue truck, chewing on his lip. Merle loves him, he knows that, but he’s still a flake, and the chance that he’ll come through for him largely depends on how much alcohol he’s had that day. And what he was using that alcohol to chase down.

He hopes it’s one of those days when Merle actually shows though, because he’s about as far up shit creek as he can be. And he knows what he looks like there on the side of the road in his torn jeans and ripped shirt. No one is gonna wanna pick him up. Hell, he wouldn't even pick him up. 

Which is why the plain black sedan easing over onto the shoulder about fifteen minutes later is a complete surprise.

Daryl gets a good look at the driver through the windshield and he can’t stop the voice in his head that says, “god _damn_.”

Loose brunette curls swirl from his forehead to his neck, a few sticking out at odd angles in the most perfect way possible. The barest hint of salt and pepper coats his perfect jaw line. Daryl already thinks he’s absolutely stunning, and that’s before he checks for traffic and gets out of the car.

Three steps, and Daryl’s brain short circuits, repeating “legs” over and over and over. His mouth goes dry.

“Hey, uh, this is kind of awkward,” the driver says.

Daryl doesn’t say anything back, finally pulling his eyes away from bowed limbs and thick thighs to notice tones arms and, God, those hips. He doesn’t even care if Merle doesn’t come anymore. All he wants is to push his jeans down and let this man bend him over the bed of his truck and fuck him right there in front of the good Lord and everyone.

“I actually seem to have this Merle person’s number.”

Hearing his brother’s name helps Daryl find reality again. He snaps his eyes to the other man’s. They're so enchantingly blue that Daryl feels his lungs constrict. 

“What?” he asks weakly. 

“Merle Dixon, I guess I inherited his phone number. New phone.” He holds up a smartphone in a simple black case. Daryl looks at his fingers more than he looks at what they’re holding, imagines them pushing into his mouth, imagines them pushing somewhere else. He swallows.

“Typical,” he says, because it is so Merle to change his phone number and not even tell him. Daryl will finally get it when his brother decides he needs something from him and no sooner. 

“Didn’t wanna leave you stranded out here though. Rick Grimes by the way,” he says, holding out his hand with an easy smile that makes Daryl’s limbs feel like ice cream on a summer day.

“Daryl. Merle’s brother.” Daryl wraps his fingers around the side of Rick’s palm and shakes. His body responds to the barest amount of contact, and he quietly curses his over-responsive dick for always pulling shit like this.

“I see.”

“Piece of shit,” Daryl mumbles, rolling his eyes. “Probably better some random stranger got it anyway. Merle ain’t exactly reliable.”

“I might’ve gotten that impression,” Rick says, laughing softly. “Thought about asking for another number but I’d already changed everything over. Figure it’ll stop eventually.”

“Glad you didn’t,” Daryl says. “I probably would’ve died on this highway.”

“That would’ve been a damn shame,” Rick says, blue eyes flicking suggestively up and down Daryl’s figure. Daryl watches the tip of his tongue dart out across his lips.

Well, alright then.

Hoping he hasn’t grossly misread the situation, Daryl adjusts himself deliberately in his jeans, not even trying to be subtle about it. Rick’s eyes watch him. He shifts his weight from one leg to the other, tilts his head. 

“Where am I taking you, Daryl?” Rick asks, voice deeper and huskier than it was mere seconds before. Daryl feels a small shudder run down his spine. Having two flat tires had seemed like such shit luck but now he’s not so sure it isn’t the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Depends.”

“On?” Rick asks, and Daryl swallows again, a small part of him still worried he’s wrong about what's happening. It’ll suck if he gets turned down  _and_ loses his only possible ride. He looks Rick Grimes up and down one more time and decides it’s damn well worth the risk.

“Your place or mine?”

Rick laughs softly before giving Daryl another look, raking his eyes over his entire body from head to toe with so much intensity that Daryl actually feels a little violated in the best possible way.

“Get in the car,” Rick says.

Daryl gets in the car. Rick’s hand is kneading his thigh before he even pulls back out onto the highway.

* * *

It’s not lounging around his apartment all day doing absolutely nothing, but all things considered, Rick’s fine with the situation when he pushes Daryl through the door, spinning him into the wall so hard a picture frame falls down, scattering glass shards all over the hardwood.

Daryl kisses him like he has a fucking terminal illness that can only be cured by getting his tongue as deep into Rick’s mouth as possible. It’s feverish and desperate and so goddamn hot that Rick moans against his lips, rocking his hips to rut against him.

Moaning softly, Daryl slips fingers into Rick’s belt loops, pulling him tighter against him while he ruts back. Rick sincerely and wholeheartedly hopes he still has lube somewhere in his bedroom. It’s been so damn long since he had a guy in there he can’t even remember.

“Hey Daryl,” Rick says, somehow breaking apart from him long enough to lick a stripe up his neck. “If you ever see your brother again, thank him for changin numbers.”

“You kiddin? I’m gonna bake that fucker a cake with pink frostin.”

More feverish kissing, Rick’s hand fisted in soft brown wisps, Daryl’s gripping the back of his neck like his entire existence depends on that single point of contact.

And Rick knows he needs to stop and walk Daryl into the bedroom, but he can’t. So he grabs his belt loops too and walks them both, mouth still on his, boots crunching through broken glass. They bump into the entertainment center and then the door frame and then the dresser. But they still make it without any major injuries.

Shoving Daryl down onto his mattress first, Rick walks to his night stand and pulls open the drawer, saying a little prayer to the heavens. He digs around random crossword books and a Louis L’Amour novel, around keychains and batteries and a bunch of other random shit he’s thrown in there because he didn’t have any better ideas for it. Finally, in the back corner behind a faded take out menu, he finds a tiny yellow bottle and a condom that somehow isn’t expired. There’s just enough liquid inside to get them both through this.

“Here,” Daryl says, holding out his hand. “Faster if I do it and I need it fast.”

Rick hands him the bottle to do what he will, keeping his eyes on Daryl while he slips off his cowboy boots and unbuttons worn black jeans. Daryl doesn’t get that far, his own jeans still hanging onto one leg while he pulls the other up onto the bed, his legs spread wide. One look at that cock and the gorgeous pink rim Daryl’s currently slicking with lube and Rick knows they’ll have to do this again because he wants to taste all of it. He wants to tongue-fuck that hole for as long as they both can stand it.

But waiting isn’t an option right now. For either of them apparently as Daryl grunts and adds more fingers. Rick rolls the condom down onto his shaft and holds out his hand. Locking eyes with his, Daryl moans softly, three fingers fucking in and out of his ass. He squeezes lube into Rick’s palm and moves his eyes down to his cock, clearly hungry to watch him stroke it onto his length.

“Can take it,” Daryl says as soon as Rick’s lubed up. He sounds completely breathless when he wipes his fingers clean on his own shirt.

“I bet you can.” Rick grabs him by the hips and forces him farther up onto the bed, yanking the jeans the rest of the way off. He slips palms onto the backs of Daryl’s thighs right above the knee, pushes his legs up toward his chest, licks his lips at the slick tight pink just waiting for him to violate it. He knee walks across the mattress and teases with a couple light swipes of his cock across that gorgeous heavenly pucker.

Below him, Daryl sucks in a breath and holds it in anticipation. The way he exhales when Rick starts to slide in is pure fucking sin. Rick feels that breath in every part of him, a delicious chill crawling down his spine. And Jesus, it feels so good. He keeps going until he’s all the way in, until his entire world becomes that hot tight heat pressing against his cock. Then he waits, even though he wants to thrust and thrust until oblivion fucking swallows him whole. He waits because it’s protocol and it’s the right thing to do and because he doesn’t want to hurt the hot piece of highway ass he’s brought home, not now or ever. 

Daryl breathes shallow breaths below him, his eyes closed. Rick waits for them to open, for them to lock on him. A single nod and he pulls out and rocks back in.

“You like it rough, Daryl?” he asks. Because Daryl is so damn pretty and all Rick wants to do is fucking tear him apart, to fuck and fuck until he’s a gorgeous sweaty panting wreck of a man.

“Bring it,” Daryl says. And Rick decided that after this he's going to write a very detailed and very personal thank you letter to Verizon Wireless.

He gives Daryl a lascivious grin and pulls his calves up onto his shoulders.

* * *

The last time Daryl had something in his ass was approximately a day and a half ago. He’d been doing some small repair jobs around his trailer and the screwdriver in his hand had felt too damn enticing for him to not give it a try. He never did get that ceiling fan fixed.

Rick’s cock is infinitely better. Longer and thicker and he doesn’t know if Rick knows the position he’s put him in is just fucking perfect or not, but Daryl’s moaning like a porn star within minutes, his hands fisting into the plain gray comforter.

Rick wasn’t playing around about being rough either. Blunt fingernails dig into Daryl’s shins, and his ass burns just a little from the speed of Rick’s undulations. It’s so good, so goddamn fucking good, that he never wants it to end. Even as he feels his body hurtling toward something explosive and destructive, some sort of supernova made of bliss and sweat and cum.

“Fuck,” Daryl groans.

“Yeah? That feel good?” Rick asks, even though they both know the answer because Daryl can’t go two seconds without at least a quiet “mmm” if not a full-blown moan. It might be the best anyone has ever made him feel in his life. It certainly feels like it in the moment anyway.

“Got no idea.”

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” Rick says, letting out his own moan. “You are so goddamn tight.”

“So deep,” Daryl sighs back, because it’s getting to the point where talking with words is a real struggle. For one, he has to actually think to form them. For two, his lungs and his mouth and his brain are all struggling to communicate as pressure builds and builds and builds.

One touch. One little brush of fingers against his cock and he knows he’ll be shooting off everywhere.

Above him, Rick closes his eyes, brows knitting together with concentration. And Daryl knows he’s close too. And like Rick senses what he needs, he slides one hand all the way down Daryl’s leg and wraps it around his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Daryl groans, knowing full well his little prophecy was true because the second Rick squeezes up his length, his cock’s twitching out his release in little spurts that land on his shirt before soaking through, warm and damp against his skin.

His release seems to act like permission for Rick to let go, and he does, a rough groan in his throat the most delicious sound Daryl’s ever heard. He keeps thrusting through is orgasm, and Daryl bites his lip and whines at the too much, too much, too much of it until he’s done.

He feels a small pang of regret when Rick pulls out and leaves him empty. His legs drop to the bed and he stares up at the ceiling, his whole body limp and light in a way it hasn’t been in long time. When he turns to look at Rick, he’s slipping off the condom and getting rid of it before making his way back to him, crawling in next to him and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Thank you for that," Rick says.

“Could say the same to you.”

Rick rolls onto his back next to him, their bodies lightly touching at the edges. He looks even more gorgeous now than he had back on the highway, his hair damp and even more messy, his thighs more impressive naked than clothed. And those hip bones protruding through his skin. Daryl tentatively reaches over and brushes across one with his fingertips.

“And to think I almost ignored that message,” Rick says, shivering slightly at the touch. 

Daryl’s lips twitch and he lets his hand drop off Rick’s hip. He knows it’ll take a good chunk of his savings he’s tucked away in an old coffee can under the kitchen sink to get a new pair of tires, but letting his eyes roam over Rick Grimes in all his unclothed glory makes him more than sure that if he could go back, he’d run over that barbed wire all over again.

“Daryl,” Rick says, after a few moments of enjoying their post-sex euphoria in silence.

“Mhm?”

“Think you’d like to do this again sometime?”

“Think you’d like to do it again in, say, an hour or two?” Daryl counters.

Rick laughs softly.

“Sounds better than my original plans for today. Way better.”

“Mine too.”

They lay there a while longer in silence, not the awkward kind but the comfortable variety. He listens to Rick Grimes breathe while sweat slowly cools his body down. He can’t wait for it to heat back up, but he’s just as content to do this.

It’s been a long time. He takes another sideways glance at Rick, eyes closed, body so still Daryl’s not entirely sure he hasn’t dozed off.

He vows that, whatever it takes, he’s gonna keep this going as long as he possibly can. Booty call or something more, he doesn’t want to wait so long between fucks ever again. He doesn't want to wait so long to be touched period. 

Letting his own eyes fall shut, he quietly thanks the fucking saint who threw a loose ball of barbed wire into the back of their truck. Then he thanks Merle for being a garbage brother who changes his number without saying anything.

Bless them both for such a fine, fine day.

**Author's Note:**

> Would you pick Daryl up if you saw him stranded on the side of the road? Because same. 
> 
> As always, you're all welcome to slide into my ask box or messages at DarylDixonGrimes dot tumblr dot com. Send me all your rickyl/queer!daryl headcanons.


End file.
